


Gordon Ramsay your way through my heart

by mashmash



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Cooking Lessons, Cooking terms probably used too wrongly, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, I Tried, Kinda, Kitchens, M/M, Making Out, Mr. Nibbles is the best character, i don't make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mashmash/pseuds/mashmash
Summary: “And it’s not like I can be Gordon Ramsay or anything, but I can certainly curse the fuck out of you as I’m showing you the basics. So?"“So...get ready to witness Hell’s Kitchen all over again, Chae.”





	Gordon Ramsay your way through my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hewwo!
> 
> Soooo, I'm too late because of summer vacay and all but I'm barely in the deadline for another HyungHyuk Bingo submission. 3/4 WHADDUP. This is for the Enemies To Lovers square. 
> 
> I know SHIT about restaurants so excuse my throwing random words and techniques all around, I hope some of them are used in the right way. I tried. I have watched enough Master Chef to know the basics, someone would say. (Not.) 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> <3

Everything is going like a well oiled clock in The Citrus, like every night. The quiet, ambient music that is playing in the dining hall is fading when the kitchen doors are closing shut behind the waiters’ backs, giving its place to the chaos that is happening in the kitchen.

 

Knives getting sharpened with fast, swift motions, half cooked meat sizzling in different pans and the odor of a dozen spices coming from boiling pots; it’s a feast for the senses, but pure hell for the cooks.

 

Hyungwon wipes the sweat beads off his forehead and he can’t really remember how many times he has done that the past hour. He pleads for better air conditioning in his mind as he expertly butter bastes the glistening steak in the pan in front of him, pink, tender meat turning rich, brown and mouth watering. He is trying to catch every single detail that would make his dish blemished; he seeks perfection and that’s what his skills and precision will get him. Or, would get him, if the porter wasn’t trying to burn his ass off with the huge, stainless steel pot full of scorching hot water he is clumsily carrying behind him.

 

“Hey, Lee, watch it with that. I’m trying to do my job _well_ here.”

 

The raven haired man nods and apologizes with a small voice, but if Hyungwon was to spare a glance towards him, he would see the irritation forming into a nose scrunching on the man’s face. Does this walking leek know how heavy this freaking pot is? Minhyuk tries not to spill anymore of the water out of its confinements before he reaches the stove, placing the pot on the burner as carefully as he can, side (death) staring towards the red haired chef de partie before he goes back to his station.

 

He has to peel off more potatoes, more onions, more _everything._ Can’t these people stop eating at some point? Or, can’t they just, let him cook properly?

 

He isn’t useless, he can fry eggs phenomenally. He even makes pasta bolognese at home, grazing cheese over it and all. Okay, maybe he is not on professional kitchen cooking level yet, but potato peeling is way lower than his actual skills.

 

His wrist hurts after peeling something that seems like a potato version of Mt. Everest and he tries to change hands, hoping he won’t peel off his skin instead. _Anyone can cook,_ he tells himself, Gusteau was right. Remy was a rad cook. And he was a rat.

 

“Can you bring more carrots?”

 

“Potatoes as well!”

 

“I may need some bell peppers here!”

 

Twenty eight. The twenty ninth sigh slipping out of his lips when he is delivering everything that was asked of him around the kitchen, trying not to slip for the umpteenth time on the greasy floor of this damn room. Jooheon should stop taking smoking breaks (or taking one long, two hour one in his already short shift) and actually clean the floor already.

 

(Some minutes later, his eye catches a glimpse of white and red strolling around the kitchen with a mop, Jooheon’s jaw almost dislocating from an intense, dinosaur resembling yawn.)

 

Thirty sighs and he is counting, before he takes his break as well.

 

He puffs out the smoke and the ash grey cloud is being blown away by the wind, which sends chills down his body, the apron and his thin t-shirt not doing much to keep him warm. It’s good for inside the kitchen, though, the stoves and the poor ventilation making it rival a cauldron down at Hell’s hottest level. He wraps one arm around his thin frame in a pointless attempt to warm himself up, taking another long drag out of his cigarette. He hears steps behind him and he turns to check, the nose scrunching returning even though he doesn’t want it to. It’s reflex at this point.

 

“I can’t go anywhere else, you’ll have to deal with it. Can’t smoke in there.”

 

“I don’t mind you. You’re just annoying when you’re holding the pan. I hate Mr. Hyde, Dr. Jeckyl is fine.”

 

“I’m not two faced, idiot. I’m just doing my job. Without burning people’s asses off.”

 

“I barely touched you with that.”

 

“Say that to the third degree burn on my ankle.”

 

“I didn’t...never mind. I’m done anyways.”

 

Minhyuk flicks the cigarette away, watching his last moment of peace fall on the street along with it. He flashes a smile towards Hyungwon, dripping with fakeness, and he walks into the kitchen again, ready to tend to the pile of dishes that are dangerously standing tall next to the sink. It’s gonna be a long night.

 

That night, he is checking in fifteen minutes late. Mr. Nibbles, his mischievous fluffball of a cat decided that rummaging through his cupboards and casually paw-pushing his sugar and coffee jars into the sink was a good idea for an evening activity. He takes off his jacket and throws it haphazardly on the rack, two or three thick ones already there, similarly hung next to his. He spots Jooheon’s flaming red bomber jacket and his eyebrows lift in surprise, his eyes searching for the boy as we walks around the kitchen and the storage rooms. The guy is always one hour late, but no one questions it, since he’s always on time when the boss decides to check on random days. It’s like he’s smelling the danger.

 

Minhyuk thinks that he would love having this talent, as he tries to lift a huge sack of potatoes out of the storage and to his counter. But unfortunately, they need his vegetable peeling ass for this kitchen to work.

 

He is taking out the bigger potatoes out of the sack when he hears hands searching with passion through the cutlery filled drawers, metal clinking on metal almost deafening.

 

“Where the fuck is the zester?”

 

The familiar voice makes his eyebrow twitch in annoyance as the clinking goes on and on, Hyungwon determined to bring this kitchen (and Minhyuk’s patience) down. He speaks without even turning his head since he knows this restaurant like the back of his hand.

 

“It’s in the drawer on the left.”

 

“I already looked there, it’s n-”

 

“Look again.”

 

The intense rummaging stops and he knows Hyungwon did just that, because after some quiet searching, the man scoffs.

 

“Told you so”.

 

He sees Hyungwon going back to what he was doing, almost inaudibly mumbling about how everyone misplaces everything in this damn kitchen, and the corners of his lips lift up into a smirk. This feeling will never grow old.

 

Since it’s a Monday everything is less busy and Minhyuk manages to get more breaks in between work, smoking with Jooheon who tells him that he actually wasn’t at work earlier; he had just forgotten his jacket and when he noticed it, he was already in the bus two stops away from home. Minhyuk nods at that and blows the smoke on the younger’s face teasingly, scolding him for not taking his job seriously enough, knowing that the lyrics he is spitting out every time he is sloppily cleaning the counters is probably the reason behind it.

 

It’s when he is on his last break when Kihyun, the tiny but furiously passionate chef of The Citrus and younger brother of Son Hyunwoo, the owner, tells him that he has to stay back for another hour or two, in order to prepare for an event the restaurant is going to host the day after. Everything inside him wants to protest with fiery passion but he nods his head positively; Kihyun is _terrifying_ when something goes wrong in the kitchen, and they’d better be prepared, or else they’re going to be witnesses of yet another _rolling pin incident._

 

(Minhyuk has never felt fear _running_ through his whole system except for the time when Hoseok, the sous chef, accidentally burned a truffle and mushroom soup during rush hour, Kihyun almost making his face one with the rolling pin right after, his small frame emitting flames of fury in front of the taller and almost two times buffer cook.)

 

Apparently, Kihyun was being exceptionally thoughtful of Minhyuk and the hours he is spending over chopped vegetables and dirty lettuce, because when he returns from the rooftop and opens the kitchen door to start working overtime, he finds Hyungwon sitting on _his_ chair, knife in his hand, already preparing what Minhyuk is supposed to.

 

“What are you staring at, Lee? You’re already late. Chop these, or it will take forever.”

 

He snaps out of it quickly, taking his place in front of the counter, occupying himself with another task Kihyun instructed him to tend to. It’s mostly silent, Hyungwon likes to focus on his work completely and Minhyuk knows this; he takes his cooking seriously and, even though the man gets on his nerves, he respects that. He is one of the pillars in this kitchen, and since he came in two years ago, the restaurant has been in peak condition.

 

Hyungwon decides to talk when the knife feels dull from being used too much in the past hour.

 

“Do you like cooking?”

 

Minhyuk’s hands stop moving for a mere moment but start working soon after, his eyes never leaving his counter and a smile forming on his lips.

 

“Does julienne carrot chopping count as cooking?”

 

Hyungwon furrows his eyebrows. “I guess so, in a way.”

 

“Then I’m kinda sick of it.”

 

He seals the bowl with the mirepoix he just finished preparing and he puts it aside, checking another task out of his mental list. There are not many things left to do apart from cleaning the mess they made and piling the dishes in the cupboards, so he turns and jumps on the counter, accidentally sitting on some onion peels he had left there, but leaving them be. His pants were already a bit stained because of Mr. Nibbles shenanigans under the apron after all.

 

“You’re always looking when Hoseok is filleting fish, or when Changkyun is working on the sauces. I’ve seen you adding paprika in our third appetizer when someone had forgotten about it.”

 

“Are you stalking me instead of blanching your asparagus, Chae?”

 

“I’m just observing stuff around the kitchen. It’s my actual job, _idiot._ ”

 

“Is watching after the useless, _idiot_ porter a line cook responsibility?”

 

“Yes, if the porter is always up for messing with the food and on the verge of causing chaos.”

 

Minhyuk opens his mouth to say something, but nothing seems to come out except for a short, sharp breath. He bites on his lower lip, his eyes drooping down. Is wanting to cook and be a bigger part of the kitchen that big of a deal?

 

“Have you told Kihyun about it? Hyunwoo?”

 

Only then Minhyuk realises that he accidentally said that out loud.

 

Hyungwon stands up from the wooden stool he was sitting for more than an hour with his legs curled in the same position and he tries to stretch his whole body, his ass numb from the sturdy, uncomfortable wood. He takes a few steps and he settles against the counter opposite to Minhyuk, hands on the metallic surface supporting him and his foot playing with a stray mushroom that happened to be on the floor after today’s hell. Minhyuk shakes his head to that, talking only because Hyungwon didn’t see that.

 

“I haven’t, and why should I? They are busy running this whole restaurant. They have enough in their plate, if you ask me,” he lets out a breathy, hoarse chuckle, “pun intended.”

 

Hyungwon flashes a small smile to that despite shaking his head in disapproval, kicking the mushroom towards Minhyuk and getting it under the counter by mistake, scratching a mental note to swipe it away later on.

 

“We all have work to do, but we all share the same love. For what we’re doing, I mean. And if you somehow share it as well…”

 

“Are you expecting me to go all “teach me senpai” on you? Because I won’t.”

 

“No, god. That sounds something Hoseok would be into, though.”

 

“I bet.”

 

They both laugh to that, but Hyungwon isn’t done yet. He takes another breath before he looks up at Minhyuk, the silence making him stare back as well.

 

“I know you probably hate my guts, and I hate yours as well, but I know you like it. Cooking.  And it’s not like I can be Gordon Ramsay or anything, but I can certainly curse the fuck out of you as I’m showing you the basics.”

 

Hyungwon’s eyes are glimmering and it’s the first time Minhyuk notices this sincere sparkle in them. It’s probably the first time he has talked like that with Hyungwon, and the first time nobody hasn’t left the scene with either a fake smile or a scoff. Minhyuk’s fingers claw under the steel counter and he curses quietly as he touches some unexpected (not) grease that is piled up on a certain, hidden spot. Maybe Jooheon should put down the cleaning rags and leave this place to rap his soul out already. Or fucking clean this place properly.

 

“I...do you really want to do this? We can’t even stand each other for a smoke.”

 

“That’s because Mr. Hyde is still on.”

 

“And you said you’re not two faced.”

 

“I should admit that watching Kihyun aggressively power walk around the kitchen with that tall chef hat of his has me really fired up.”

 

“I still believe that he only wears it to seem taller and more intimidating.”

 

“Well, it kinda works. Not the height part. I’m still taller. He scares the fuck out of me though, sometimes.”

 

“Rolling pin incident.”

 

Minhyuk’s eyes widen, recollecting the events of that chaotic evening. “Rolling pin incident.”

 

Hyungwon grins and stands up straight, his hands reaching behind him to adjust and tighten his apron. He looks straight at Minhyuk.

 

“So?”

 

Minhyuk thinks for mere seconds before he hops down from the working surface, the onion peels he was sitting on falling from his thighs to the floor. He shoots Hyungwon a smirkless kind of smirk, somehow managing to look both smug and utterly excited simultaneously. It’s a Minhyuk talent, emoting in a weird way.

 

“So...get ready to witness Hell’s Kitchen all over again, Chae.”

 

Hyungwon is exceptionally surprised when he tastes Minhyuk’s cooking for the first time. He may be rough at the edges, totally lackluster when it comes to proper technique and, well, kinda _too_ spontaneous with his spice choices but all in all, the first spoonful Hyungwon takes from his mexican risotto isn’t bad. Not at all.

 

They have their first impromptu cooking lessons (as Hyungwon likes to call them) in the restaurant’s kitchen when everybody has already left, Kihyun already informed about what is going on and eagerly leaving the keys back for them to lock.

 

He doesn’t have to teach him everything, Minhyuk proudly announces that he has repeatedly tried to copy things from every single cook in The Citrus kitchen, sometimes failing but getting it right in the end. Every word Hyungwon teaches him, though, is being absorbed by Minhyuk with sponge like intensity.

 

And when they get tired from having their sessions in the middle of the night, tired and sweaty from the stove flames and the pressure, they meet at Minhyuk’s place.

 

It’s one of those days, Hyungwon bringing his own, custom made knives over at the older’s studio apartment, Minhyuk having already bought every ingredient they are going to need in advance, Mr. Nibbles shoving his head curiously in the paper bags to explore the mysterious and unknown to him contents, pawing out a single tomato and letting it roll off the countertop.

 

“No, Nibbles, these are not for you to play! Go scratch the couch or something.”

 

“It’s Mr. Nibbles to you, still. And why are you even telling him that? I have a whole scratching post. A huge ass scratching post, right there.”

 

“You should get rid of that rusty couch at this point. Scratch the hell out of it, Mr. Nibbles, and you might get a piece of this fish, if this useless ass cook fillets it properly.”

 

Minhyuk stops cutting his way through pink salmon meat with his (Hyungwon’s) filleting knife and glares towards Hyungwon, who is snickering loudly next to him. Mr. Nibbles seemed to like the idea of the fish treat, because he is now gnawing and clawing on the already worn out couch with all his might, threads of destroyed fabric sticking out.

 

“You’re really cocky for a man that stands next to a guy who holds a sharp, stainless steel knife.”

 

“You need me, Lee, you wouldn’t kill me like that. Stabbing is not extravagant enough for you, is it?”

 

“Salmon slapping you in the face and then stabbing you is flashy enough, though.”

 

“Dare to use salmon for these purposes and the gods of cooking will come for your head. Or my soul will if you do.”

 

“I won’t do it, only because I don’t want your lanky, annoying ghost wandering around in my house. This was supposed to me my Chae-free space.”

 

“Well, now it’s the chef Chae space. Keep filleting.”

 

Minhyuk bites back the urge to reply with “yes, chef” and goes in with his knife again, wondering why he even has it. That’s a kink nobody _ever_ asked for. Right?

 

They can’t exactly pinpoint the moment when their cooking lessons turn into full fledged dinner dates. Minhyuk would never accept to call them _dates,_ though, either in front of Hyungwon or to himself, even.

 

It’s because they are both tired and spent that they share a bowl of stir fry noodles with a Minhyuk twist in an attempt to make them more special after a long day at work and a productive lesson.

 

It’s because Minhyuk debones a whole chicken and can’t possibly eat it alone that Hyungwon ends up cooking one of his favorite recipes for them to eat while Minhyuk has put on a too-sappy-for-literally-anyone drama on tv, not even asking the younger to come and snuggle next to him on the cat scratched couch, munching and humming in contentment because of how delicious the food is.

 

And it’s definitely because they opened a brand new, expensive wine at the restaurant just for Minhyuk to learn how to flambé and couldn’t just leave it sitting in the refrigerator that they sip wine out of the bottle at The Citrus rooftop, lying down on their jackets spread out on the tattered cement, fingertips touching every time one of them reaches out to drink.

 

Minhyuk licks a droplet of wine and watches as Hyungwon’s plump lip is pressing against the glass, taking a small sip and reflecting his exact move. When he turns to look at him, Minhyuk’s head turns to the front again almost immediately, pretending that his heart didn’t falter when he saw Hyungwon’s adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down the alcohol.

 

“I cooked some broccoli and Mr. Nibbles came to me meowing because he wanted a piece. Of broccoli. My cat. That hates his own high quality cat food sometimes.”

 

Hyungwon giggles with his eyes still on Minhyuk, maybe a bit more than necessary because of the wine, but nobody really minds it. They are both tipsy and truthfully, Minhyuk doesn’t mind anything that Hyungwon does right now.

 

“I like your broccoli as well, and I generally don’t.”

 

“I don’t put your taste above Mr. Nibbles’s, he’s the pickiest out of you two. You can eat your steak almost raw.”

 

“My palate is divine, excuse you. Only the real can relate.”

 

Minhyuk laughs out loud to that, sitting up and curling his knees close to his chest.

 

“Jooheon would be proud of you for your Cardi B knowledge.”

 

“I know no Cardi B.”

 

“I saw Bodak Yellow being first in your Youtube search history when you were searching for that cat video at my place the other day.”

 

“I know no Cardi B.”

 

“We all have one guilty pleasure Hyungwonnie, I’m not music shaming you.”

 

“What if I have two?”

 

Minhyuk can’t really let that slide. I mean, come on, knowing not one but _two_ of Chae Hyungwon’s weaknesses? The guy hit major jackpot. He turns his head and keeps staring at Hyungwon expectantly, waiting for his answer, intrigued.

 

“Two? Spill, Chae. What do you like more than rapping to Cardi?”

 

Hyungwon’s mind doesn’t stop to think about it even for a second.

 

“Thinking about how much I want to kiss you every time you’re next to me in the kitchen.”

 

The smile that was plastered all this time on Minhyuk’s face starts to fade, his mouth turning into a straight line as his mind is trying to take in everything that the man in front of him just spat out. His eyes are glued on him, sparkly and filled with glassy wonder. Hyungwon though, can’t seem to keep quiet anymore.

 

“I even think about it now. How much I want it. I have it in my mind since I stepped foot in this restaurant.”

 

“And why…”

 

“Why was I cheeky like that?”

 

Hyungwon breaths out a small chuckle and shrugs, taking a quick sip of wine, because suddenly his mouth feels dry even though he wasn’t the one who was talking endlessly all this time.

 

“I have no idea. Maybe because you were as well. Maybe because it was fun teasing you, seeing all the irritated faces you could pull off. It was f-”

 

“Hyungwon.”

 

Hyungwon’s head turns to Minhyuk’s direction, but he doesn’t expect to find him staring at him like that. Like he is _determined_ for something. He has the eyes Hyungwon sees every time Minhyuk looks at a cooking technique he wants to learn, at a new recipe or ingredient he wants to explore, feel, smell, see better. Most people flash bedroom eyes, but Lee Minhyuk bores into him with _kitchen_ eyes like small, paring knives and that’s the kind of look Hyungwon wants to fall in love with.

 

Minhyuk moves closer and closer, settling on his knees next to Hyungwon, plump, heart shaped lips parted and hot breath fanning against Hyungwon’s cheek. His gaze falls on his eyes and then his lips, and his tongue comes out to leave his lower lip glistening, and to suck Hyungwon’s breath out of his lungs.

 

“Kiss me, _idiot._ ”

 

And Hyungwon doesn’t need to be told twice, because his lips lock with Minhyuk’s like they are made to do that, hands sliding from his waist to his thighs, letting him straddle his legs, bringing him as close as he possibly can. He can taste the expensive wine on his lips and he opens his mouth to feel this better, his tongue parting Minhyuk’s lips and licking around his, the man pliantly curling his fingers into his red tufts and melting in the kiss.

 

He remembers all the times he had the urge to loosen Hyungwon’s apron while he was sweating over the stove flames just to hear him grunt when Hyungwon’s hands roam on the small of his back. The ice cubes he was sneaking in his shirt from his collar just to see him shiver as his cold fingers run on his back and his nails graze on his spine, under his shirt. He thinks of his breath against his face when they part for air as the smoke he was blowing onto Hyungwon’s face on this exact rooftop, wanting to see his nose scrunching in discomfort.

 

“What are you thinking?”

 

Minhyuk’s mirthful laughter is quiet but even his eyes smile.

 

“I’m trying to think if I prefer this face or your annoyed as fuck one on you.”

 

Hyungwon pinches his side and rolls his eyes.

 

“Exactly, that’s the face I’m talking about. That’s my favorite.”

 

“I’ll make you roll all the pasta dough tomorrow if you keep this up.”

 

And as Minhyuk always messes up with making ravioli, he lets Hyungwon mess up with his head instead this time, his lips coming close to Hyungwon’s ear, the smirk evident in his voice, and he whispers the thing he is holding in all this time, just like this.

 

“Yes, Chef.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can always yell at me for my bad puns and random writing @mashirakos on twitter. I'll yell back.


End file.
